


Interim

by heartspocky



Series: Home-verse [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Bottom Riku (Kingdom Hearts), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Marriage, Married Sex, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2020-06-24 13:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartspocky/pseuds/heartspocky
Summary: A collection of one shots taking place throughout various times and places.





	1. Post-Home: Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was... not intended to be my next posted project, haha. But knowing I haven't posted anything in a good 7 months was starting to burn away at me, so here we go!
> 
> This chapter takes place around 6 months after the epilogue of Home. Sora's point of view, detailing a typical, if not gloomy-weathered, Saturday morning with Riku. :) 
> 
> Not all chapters will be E-rated, but please note that this one is!

The rain wakes me at almost six in the morning on a chilly Saturday morning, but it looks more like three or four when I glance out the window. Reminds me of our old, odd runaway hours, when we were up too late and too early all at once. At least it’s not thundering still; storms don’t take me to that weird mental space anymore, but they sure do keep me up. The _cold_ doesn’t help. Could go up and turn on the heat, but I really don’t feel like getting out of bed…. 

I curl up close to my husband, pulling the covers up to my face as I go. Why drag my ass into the living room to fuss with the heater when I can just leach spousal body heat, instead? 

In the dim hint of something that _might_ be light trying to break through the clouds, I can see his chest rising and falling, his silver hair splayed over the pillows, still slightly damp from the shower he took before finally getting to bed hours after I was fast asleep. Riku’s been staying up way too late these past few weeks, stressed about everything there is to stress about. What else is new?

As his fingers twitch in reaction to some dream, I run my knuckles down his back gently, waking him. 

Ack! Not exactly what I meant to do. 

Riku props himself up on one hand and rubs the back of his neck with the other, seeming slightly disoriented in his state of half-waking. I watch the back of his head, waiting to see if he’s going to cuddle back down into the covers before I say anything. No use in engaging if he’s just trying to go back to sleep. 

When he starts feeling around his bedside table for some papers that have been lying around for a while, though, I give him a little nudge. 

“…Hey.” 

He looks up at me as he flops back down onto the mattress, rubbing his eyes. 

“Hey.”

“Sorry I woke you.” 

Riku waves dismissively, groaning a little. But the bags under his eyes are literally gray. My man is _burnt out_. I don’t blame him. This year has really been… something else.

I push myself back over to his side, just enough so we’re barely touching. Already I feel his warmth, and it’s enough to lull me.

I’m drifting back to sleep, taking in the sounds of the rain dissolving into a sprinkle and the smell of Riku’s shampoo. I've sunk into that disorienting half-awake twilight state when I feel him get up. _That_ jerks me back into consciousness.

“Where are you going?” I’m wide awake as I sit up, blinking as Riku turns on the bathroom light and a stream of bright white floods into view. 

He gives me a strange look—the one that once meant _you’re an idiot_ but has softened lately. 

“I’m brushing my teeth,” he replies, hand resting on the door. “And then I’m going to go make breakfast.”

“…It’s Saturday,” I tell him. His head gives a tiny, unconscious shake. 

“So? We’re both awake. It’s six. We might as well get up.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not,” I tell him, folding my legs and pulling the covers over my head and around by body like a cloak. “It’s _Saturday_.” He rolls his eyes and closes the door behind him, but I can see the playful smile on his lips before he turns away. 

He’s in an oddly good mood this morning. Guess it must be nice, knowing that pretty much everything that needs finishing with his column is in the chief editor’s hands now. He can finally breathe easy.

I lay back on the mattress, now torn. I don’t want to get up, but if I go back to sleep now I’m just going to sleep in later than I want, and then I’ll be groggy all day for sure… blah.

I hold off on a decision until Riku emerges from the bathroom, still in his soft gray pajama pants and brushing his hair. As he passes by to get to the dresser I reach out, grabbing a handful of flannel and pulling him over. A small part of me relishes in seeing my usually-graceful husband stumble a bit as he regains his footing, prying my hands off his pants as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“There are better ways of getting my attention, you know,” Riku says, laughing.

“None as fun, though.” I wrap my arms around his waist, pull him close, and lay a kiss next to his ear. His squirming is no match for my iron grip. _Ha!_

“…You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

I shake my head. “Never have and not starting now,” I tell him.

Finally submitting, he relaxes into my arms. A deep breath in fills my senses with the minty smell from his toothpaste, and his skin is soft as always as he rests his hand over mine–even if I can remember a time they were rough and cracked and worn. We sway together, and all the while my mind wanders. 

Nathan reached out again, sort of. He and Riku’s mom sent Riku a birthday card during the summer, then a Christmas card just a few weeks ago. Plus two hundred bucks a pop. We haven’t even spent it. It feels weird to.

It’s been radio silence otherwise.

“Hey,” I ask gently. “Have you decided if you’re going to call–”

“No.” Riku must realize how harsh he came across with that one word, because he sighs and squeezes my hand: an indicator that he’s alright. That we’re alright. “I think I need more time to be angry. And then I’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“Sounds fair to me.” I grin, desperate to get off this subject. I don’t know why I even brought it up in the first place. “So, you said something about breakfast.” He’s smiling. I don’t have to see his face, I can just tell. 

“Later,” he says. He shifts just enough to press his lips against mine and, very falsely expecting me to remain upright, disperses the full weight of his body squarely against my chest. Of course we topple over, Riku landing mercifully light on top of me in exchange for a mouthful of silver hair. I’m groaning as I spit out the soapy strands, shoving him up and off me while he laughs and does nothing to help. Needless to say, I don’t feel too guilty when he nearly topples off the bed, only recovering last minute.

I make room, letting him back up as we catch our breath. The rain’s started up again. I didn’t even notice it stop, but once I hear it again it seems like the room was too silent without the drip, drip, drip of little sky drops rolling off the small awning above our window outside. 

“Day three,” Riku says quietly, looking out the window. I sigh heavily. Maybe I’m just a spoiled beach bum, but I’m not used to getting so many days of rain in a row… this is unusual, though needed. But then, I think I say that every winter. 

After a moment, Riku rolls onto his side to rest his head and a hand on my chest. I start petting him automatically, occupying my fingers in his hair as my eyes wander around the room without thought. 

Saturday… chore day. Suddenly everything I see feels like a project. 

I promised Riku I would fix one of the drawers in our wardrobe, which seems to enjoy rolling out of its track at inconvenient times. That was weeks ago… Whoops. 

“Did you do my laundry, babe?” I ask, taking note of a neatly folded pile of what looks to be my jeans on our desk. He yawns, repositioning his head as he pushes closer to me, the entire front of his body now pressed against my side. More warmth.

“Yeah, yesterday,” he responds. He shrugs off my _thank you_. “I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“…Oh.”

I don’t think about it much, but our setup right now must be kind of hard on him. I worked a lot of extra hours last month, and the next couple of weeks are going to be heavy again. So far, post-grad life has meant a second retail job while I look for permanent work, keeping me out of the house more often than not. Meanwhile Riku’s just switched to working remotely, so I guess I’ve really been leaving him alone a lot... I’m sure he’s getting restless, maybe feeling a bit isolated. 

He’s never complained, though. Compared to the stress he was under last week with so many deadlines approaching at once, he’s eating more, doesn’t lock himself in the spare room for hours, gets at least some sleep… but now what? I know how he feels about boredom. This can’t be easy. Any of it.

I glance down to find that his eyes are on me, like he’s waiting for something. I stare at him for the longest time before it hits me. 

“Thanks,” I tell him. “I really appreciate it... I haven’t had any time lately.” That gets him smiling and not looking up at me quite so strangely. “I promise I’ll get back on top of the vacuuming again.” Or any of those other chores that we agreed were my responsibility and I sort of stopped thinking about once we got hitched. It wasn’t intentional, I swear.

“I don’t care,” Riku says, ever dismissive. “I’d rather it get done. I don’t care who does it.”

That’s what he says, but it’s not gonna stop me from trying for extra brownie points.

“Have you noticed I stopped leaving the spray hose in the sink after I’ve finished the dishes? Oh, and I squeegee the shower door when I’m done with it, too.”

He yawns again.

“Yeah, I noticed. Thanks.”

“Squeegee is a fun word,” I say, not really to anyone. 

He shoots me another look, one a little closer to his patented “you’re an idiot” face before breaking into a wide grin. 

“True,” he concedes. 

I move my fingers down his body enough to get a little shudder from him, but then he’s squirming like he can’t get comfortable–sliding up, sliding down, adjusting the angle of his hips. I almost make a remark about how he’s just wiggling and needs to settle, but wind up taking his chin and tilting his face up for a kiss instead.

“Good morning.” 

The smile on his face is heart-melting. Or maybe I’m just a softie this early in the AM. “Good morning.”

It takes us a good hour to get up and moving, to dress and wash and straighten up, and even then we still end up crashing back in bed not ten minutes after we’ve attempted to make breakfast. It’s way too cold to be wandering around the house. This early. On a _Saturday._ I’d much rather lay in bed, wrapped in a spare blanket and holding onto Riku like a lifeline.

These all-too-rare moments of total calm are my favorite... and it’s nice actually being able to predict when they’re coming and when it’s time to back off. I look back to some of our more confusing moments back when we were first dating and I have no clue how I did it. Shit, I must have had an iron will. 

Beside me, Riku sighs heavily. 

“I hate being unproductive,” he says quietly. Explains all the fidgeting. 

“I know,” I tell him simply, brushing the hair from his eyes. I give him a poke in the side to see if I can get another laugh out of him, but he’s already slipped into a pit.

“Sorry... just bored. And tired of it.” He says it like I’m not _right here_ at this _very moment_.

“Gee, thanks," I respond, voice flat in a jokey sort of way. He's quick to interject. 

“I didn’t mean–” 

When Riku glances back, apology readied, only to see the grin on my face, he gets his revenge: a playful shove and a couple of unwarranted names that get me laughing despite my indignation. In retaliation, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around his waist, using all of my strength to pull him down. For the second time this morning he topples onto me, laughing, and I find myself spitting out more of his long hair. I wriggle out from underneath him and attack, just barely noticing the way his shirt’s ridden up, revealing a hint of smooth, toned stomach.

He lets out a loud, surprised sound as I pounce, tickling him til he’s begging me to stop through bursts of giddy laughter, and just for a moment I catch him glancing back at the wall as if he’s afraid of the neighbors overhearing. Then his eyes are on me, intense and deep.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, finally.

I have a few ideas. I have the feeling he does, too.

So… he’s not quite initiating it yet. I guess it still makes him a little uncomfortable sometimes. Us, I mean. Married for almost two years, and I think he still isn’t done getting used to _us_.

I press my lips to his, feeling him shudder as I slide down, working my way to his collarbone, little kisses here and there until he’s letting out light, fluttery little laughs. Predictably, the little nip I give him earns me an exasperated sound. I shouldn’t tease him like that, but it’s so much fun.

That’s when I hoist myself up to get a better look at him, his silver hair spilling over the pillow, lips parted, blue-green gaze fixed on me with nothing but naked affection. 

Riku sighs as I run my hands under his shirt, my palms flat on his chest, his abs, feeling every inch of muscle and soft, soft skin. I push his shirt up as far as I can, drinking in the sight of him, before he discards it all together. Even better. Perfect, actually. 

I slide a string of kisses down his torso until I reach the start of his jeans, and it's time to check in.

Our eyes meet and he smiles, signaling that this is definitely a go. He’s in a pair of his looser jeans today, so it’s easy enough to just grab those and his boxers and push them down in one fell swoop. From there I continue down his body, passing my obvious goal in order to use just a hint of teeth on his inner thigh, enough to leave a mark that’ll last for a minute or two. 

He laughs and groans and squirms, but when I take him in my mouth he goes stock-still. His breathing goes all slow and shallow, and I become far too aware of my own arousal while bobbing my head, swallowing him. It's not difficult taking him down my throat, even despite his size–not when I'm so eager to do this and I enjoy it so much. I'm getting good at deepthroating Riku, if I do say so myself. He's not enormous or anything, but proportions can be a bitch sometimes when one of you is built like a tank and the other… er… isn't. 

Anyway, I give him just enough, not too much, before pulling back. I don’t want him to come. 

Not yet, I mean! I definitely want him to come, but I wanna be inside him when it happens.

I look into slightly glazed, spacey eyes, adoring the sight of my husband like this, in all his cutely frazzled glory. I lean in to kiss Riku’s forehead before trotting to the bathroom medicine cabinet. In the back of my mind, I realize we desperately need to find a better place for the lube. I’ll have to remember to throw it in the desk drawer or something when we're done, because the wait is ridiculous when you’re in bed, horny as hell and stuck waiting for the other person to get back. _That_ I know all too well. 

I undress as I head back to bed, not really caring where my clothes land as they drop to the floor, forgotten.

With that, I climb on top of Riku, initiating our first real kiss this morning. Our mouths open, tongues clash, and while this is going on I still manage to run a hand across Riku’s fantastic body. Score one for me. And him too, honestly.

We seem to have the same thought process, which is to get this going as soon as possible. I pull away as Riku throws his head back, letting out a deep gasp for air. We're a little awkward when readjusting, Riku pushing himself up into a more comfortable position but closing his legs in the process, which is about as far from my goal as humanly possible.

I give him a moment to grab a pillow and get situated before taking hold of his knees and spreading them, and it's all I can do not to start whining in anticipation. I’m so ready for this. I can’t stand it, can’t stand the wait. When I've got his legs open, I feel like I could sing. But I don't think Riku'd be into that, so my mouth stays shut. 

Adrenaline still going strong, I snatch the lubricant and smear some—enough—on my fingers. As I push one inside, I can’t help but watch Riku, his body, his face… both so perfect. Every _inch_ of him is perfection: the way his chest rises and falls as he takes what are now deep, slow breaths; how his eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open; and his cock, raised in interest… just, he's perfect and beautiful even with the scars, and all I can think is how glad I am that I married him, that he married _me_.

…Okay, seriously, it’s time to stop with the mushy thoughts already.

Pressing one last kiss against his forehead, I push a second finger inside. _That_ earns me a good reaction. He groans, breaths becoming erratic, and his eyes flutter open, alert and wild.

God, he’s too hot to be real, especially when he’s writhing and panting like this. And this is with only my fingers! Man… he’s going to be really good today. Especially good. 

I push in a third finger, carefully spreading them a little, curling them. Riku doesn't always like this many inside, so I watch his expression carefully and keep it short. I still manage to get a choked moan out of him, though. Or, well, it’s some kind of sound, anyway. At any rate, he’s ready. 

I let him watch as I bring out the lube one last time, watching him in return as I slick myself. His fingers and toes are curled into the covers; in his anticipation, he looks tense–a little feral, too. So it'd be cruel to make him wait a second longer. 

I take a hold of his hips, entering him with a single mighty thrust. He lets out a sound not unlike air escaping out of a balloon, high and airy and sustained. 

Ack, how did I ever forget how amazing it feels to top him? My eighteen-year-old self is smacking himself on the forehead right now. Okay, we've gotta do it this way more often.

I roll my hips a little, less focused on creating friction as I am on just getting a little deeper and angling the right way. Riku's still as I shift, the only movement coming from his hands as his nails find my back, scratching gentle, light lines on my skin. 

I push his legs to his chest, using the split-second it earns me to decide whether I want to fuck around first (no pun intended… well, maybe) and prolong this, or if I want to zero in right away on the spot that I know makes him lose it.

Screw it. We haven’t done this in weeks, so I’m making it last.

I take my time easing totally inside, taking in his incredible warmth and softness as his body opens up to accommodate me. The pace of my kisses match, light and chaste across his face and neck and anywhere I can reach. Right now, I want to give him just enough to remind him of what he’s been missing, want to pace him and make him need it.

Plus, I would never tell him this, but I want to make him beg. I want him desperate, want him to thrash and clutch the sheets and damn it, just once I want him to scream my name as he comes. For two seconds in our entire lives together, I just want to have an ounce of control over him, because he’s so smart and so far ahead of me, and so wildly unpredictable. 

...The panting is a good start, though. During my stupid thoughts I guess I slowed down a bit more than I’d planned to, and all the while Riku’s head is thrown back 'cause he’s waiting to be kissed and his nails are dragging up and down my back, marking my skin just enough that I know I’ll feel it even after we’re done. 

I oblige him always, lapping at his neck, sucking his ear and relishing every hitch of breath, every gasp and sigh. His version of _harder_ , _faster_ , _more._ It’s all about the small signals; reading between the lines. And I’ve gotten good at that. 

My hands rush to touch him, feeling the firmness of his abs, flicking at a nipple while I shamelessly grope at his pronounced pectoral muscles, and even getting a hint of the little squishiness to his belly whenever he loosens up and stops flexing so hard, reflexively tense. 

I don't spend too long in any one place–I know Riku's tolerance for this much touching can be pretty low... but holding me so deep inside is probably a pretty good distraction from the heavy petting I can't get enough of.

"You like that?" I ask him lowly, eyes flicking down to the place we're connected, leaving no room for misinterpretation. The moan that follows is the best response I can imagine.

Okay, I think I'm done torturing him now.

Clumsily I reach for his legs again, my hands finding the warm, sweaty meeting of calf and thigh, letting my cock slip out of him so I can get us into a slightly better position. My hands stay glued to his legs after our little switch, holding them apart and close to his body so I can enjoy the way I disappear into him, inch by inch. Yeah, can't get quite as deep... but I can at least enjoy the view while I'm here...

I glance up to Riku's face, checking to see that he's alright, and for a moment all I can do is look at him, and our eyes meet, his full of trust and affection and mine surely lovestruck to match... It’s just– it's this incredible experience, there’s nothing else like it. 

Then Riku rolls his eyes. Okay, moment over. 

To make up for my unusual pacing I speed up, a little too much, maybe… I seriously don’t know why I have no control over myself this morning. Riku’s right, I get _way_ overexcited. Sometimes I can’t believe that he puts up with me, or that he hasn’t banned me from fucking him forever, at least. Or maybe _that's_ why he's been topping so much lately. Hm...

Well, he seems to go with this new position and enjoy it for a while, but then admittedly my arms get a little tired and I can tell he’s starting to get impatient. I think, as hot as this was when I came up with it, the novelty's wearing a little thin. I slowly loosen my grip on his legs, and he responds by pressing one to each of my sides, sliding them down before wrapping both around my waist, pulling me closer with his lower-body strength alone. Hot.

Before I do anything else, I wait for him to do what he always does when we stop to readjust: to lean forward and kiss me before slowly, gently, agonizingly pushing me back inside. For him to set the pace as we finish out, taking control for just a few minutes before letting me do the rest of the work. 

But he doesn’t. The look he gives me is confident and combative, filled with a pure snark that’s one hundred percent Riku. He’s challenging me, I just don’t know what he’s trying to get me to do.

This could go one of two ways: he either wants me to come and get him, or he wants me to hold out for him and let him take the upper hand for a bit. And I've got to figure out which one it is now, 'cause I'm already throwing off our rhythm as it is, and making the wrong move could be fairly disastrous.

…It’s not that sex is a control thing with us. It’s just that everything is a control thing with us.

And we love a little competition.

So I take a third option and refocus, kissing up and down his neck and running my hands down his body, lower and lower, until I can take him in my hand and stroke him. His breath catches, his eyes shut. After all of that, it won’t take much to get him to come.

Beginning to thrust again, I find that spot that makes him go crazy as soon as possible. I feel him tense, and I know without looking that he’s clutching the sheets, his toes are curled, and his head is back against the pillow… 

My orgasm is swift and smooth and knocks the energy right out of me. Riku doesn’t seem to be too far behind, and I stroke him just enough when I’m through to make sure he’s totally finished, since he doesn’t make a sound.

I end up sort of rolling off him and slumping over when it's done. Man, I’m beat.

For a moment, all we can do is look at each other before he breaks into this dorky grin and turns away. I grab a blanket I think we kicked off the bed and cuddle up.

“I guess I should make breakfast," Riku says, breaking our content-but-dead silence. Right, guess the momentary distraction is done. In Riku's mind, that means it's time to move, move, move. Honestly, with everything going on right now and what we just did, I'd rather he just suck it up and get the rest.

Meeting him with a small smile, I turn over and throw a hand over his.

“I’ll get it," I tell him, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. 

Right on cue, my stomach growls, loud and gnawing and nagging for food. Wonderful. I should attend to that and get Riku fed while I'm at it, but I was kind of hoping for a good five, ten minutes to just chill out and enjoy the quiet time with my husband. Besides, I’m too tired to even think about getting up. It’s barely nine in the morning. On a _Saturday_. “Sleep first,” I decide, to my stomach's chagrin. But I can ignore that. More easily than I can ignore the need to cling onto the person I love more than anything.

I'm out almost too quickly to hear Riku’s small chuckle, and whatever snarky little comment he makes about how hopeless I am. But I know him well enough to realize that he’s right there with me, right next to me, close as my own heart as we sleep. 


	2. Post-Home: Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between the final chapter of Home and its epilogue.

It’s been one of those shitty months where Sora and I can’t stop arguing over the tiniest, most insignificant things for even a moment. 

_One_ of those months.

Not a very good sign when you’ve only been married for six months, but I’ve been in touch with my old teacher, Lauren Moran, as she transitions from teaching to counseling and she’s been assuring me that the first two years are the hardest. Statistically speaking, I mean. So... I’m inclined to trust her on that.

Besides, it’s not like I’m surprised that the atmosphere has been uneasy lately. Sora and I are stressed and overworked, simultaneously missing and totally sick of each other’s presence in this tiny apartment. And I guess neither of us can consider the refusal of argument-bait to be a personal strength, especially when we're feeling a little short-tempered, a little on edge.

There is not an ounce of love lost between Sora and myself, not a drop. But it’s bills, long hours, school and multiple jobs, a shift in our interactions (I _knew_ marriage would change things, I knew it, Sora was overly optimistic as always), and almost no sex. Absolutely no hanging out. It's… not a good place to be.

But I think we’re calming down. Over the last week, we must have gotten the frustration—with each other, the things we can control, the things we can’t—out of our systems. Now we might even be ready to act like sane, civilized people again. 

We’ve been getting along the past few days, at least.

Anyway, the morning starts well. I make myself sleep in, and by the time I’m up Sora’s back from work and fixing up a late breakfast. He looks tired as he pours buttermilk into flour, cracking an egg his weird two-handed way, and beginning to mix the batter with a metal fork. I know the earliest shift at the restaurant, which drags him out of bed at just after four in the morning, isn’t his favorite. I also know that giving him reduced hours on top of it only adds insult to injury. But it’s nice for me, sometimes, to have him here when I wake up.

His face brightens when he sees me, grin widening when I hover behind him, planting a kiss on his cheek when I get the chance.

Sora perks up more and more throughout the day, and it’s hard not to be happy when he's in such a brilliant mood. When he smiles at me, it’s contagious. I don’t even mind that we’ve been sitting in front of the television all day when there’s laundry to start and vacuuming to finish. I miss him, and he rarely gets to kick back like this. I’m not inclined to take this from him. 

Plus, his goofy comments at whatever we ended up watching are more than worth it. He’s always been one of the few people who can make me laugh, and I lose track of how many times he gets me going until I can barely breathe. When did he get _this_ funny? Or do I just forget the things he can do to me?

Still catching my breath from the latest stupid joke, I rise from the couch and head into our bathroom to wash up from lunch. I don’t know how Sora can stand just licking chip dust from his fingers and leaving it. Grosses me the hell out, though he’d be quick to point out that I’ve had his tongue in my _mouth_ , among other things. And he’d have a point. So I never voice it.

Over the rush of water from the faucet, I hear the phone sound off. One ring, two, then Sora’s got it, cutting the third shrill call in half. I think nothing of it until he hoarsely calls for me as I switch off the tap.

…That doesn’t sound good.

Paying no mind to the droplets of water rolling down my fingers, I step out into the living room. He’s no longer by the phone, leaving me to scan the room urgently before spotting him back on the couch. The TV’s switched off, room quiet as he sits slumped, staring blankly ahead. 

He calls again, not realizing I’m here, and buries his head in his hands. My heart is pounding, head already processing and mourning and planning, expecting the worst, the worst, the worst–

“What?” I ask, more harshly than intended, but fuck I’m scared. I’m _scared_. “Sora, what’s going on?” 

He takes a shaky breath and looks up at me, the rims of his eyes pink as though he’s holding back tears.

“My mom died,” he says simply, and for a moment I’ve forgotten how to move, how to breathe. 

Automatically I rush over, taking a seat next to him and throwing an arm over his shoulder, one around his waist, pulling him close to me and, oh… oh _fuck_ , I actually cannot believe this and I don’t know what to say or do. All at once I'm stunned and confused and _thrown_... oh, fuck. _Sora._ I hurt for him so, so badly, more than I can say, but beneath that pain there’s a sense of guilty relief, one that eclipses the sadness, the grief, the secondhand feeling of sorrow that envelopes and overwhelms when a person you care about has lost somebody. 

That doesn’t clue me in any; it only complicates things. But there’s one thing I do know, and it’s that I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry she’s dead in the least. 

Does that seem harsh? I don't really care. I didn't care for _her._

Aside from a brief introduction at our wedding and the incident so many years ago when we were runaways, I only had the displeasure of meeting Sora’s mother face-to-face twice. The apartment’s small and the walls are thin, so it wasn’t hard to find myself overhearing their conversations—the good and the bad.

Sora could be doing something _completely_ innocuous and she’d respond with something terrible, bullying in a subtle way, the way my bullies would talk to me back in middle school when they knew a teacher was in hearing distance.

_Oh, you're wearing that?_

_That's an interesting place to put the glasses._

_Are you really sure you want a second helping?_

_Don't you think that couch is kind of big for this space?_

He could grin and bear it with an amazing level of patience, but sometimes the meaningless criticism would extend to choices _I'd_ made, and she’d get the fight she wanted then. Easily. She dangled the bait, and Sora would reach out to grab it every time. Sora and I will defend each other to the ends of the earth. It's our mutual blind-spot, the one that gets us into trouble no matter how old we get, or how mature.

So he'd snap or assert himself and she’d get to be the victim, the one coddled and comforted while Sora would be left to apologize when he'd done nothing wrong.

And then she would go, leaving destruction in her wake. I would spend the next few hours, days, walking on eggshells, putting off any of the little reminders or corrections that otherwise make up our marriage. How could I not? There's no amount of love or approval that can fill in the specific void that forms when you have a parent who only knows how to criticize, I know that, and I know that the last thing he needed from me was anything less than acceptance, patience. Safety. 

It was far from a sacrifice on my part. I never knew what else to do. She'd attack and I would have to sit there and watch, helpless, as my fighter folded, drawing into himself and knowing all too well that anything I said or did to defend him would do more harm than good. I respect Sora above all else, which means respecting his wishes. Even when that means holding my tongue. He always told me he could handle her.

So, no. I'm not sorry she's dead.

Because I associate the name _Karen Amari_ with a heavy, foreboding cloud of stress.

Because I can picture Sora in a great mood, smiling bright as always, until a call from his mother. How quickly she could pick at his happiness until it turned sour, until he regretted feeling it at all. Words she’d throw out, _ungrateful_ topping the list—yet whenever he’d somehow find it in himself to show her the appreciation she coveted, always undeserved, she would barely acknowledge it. The little insults, tossed with a smile. The bigger ones, delivered in anger. Everything he did—wrong, all the time.

Because in her eyes, Sora could never work hard enough, act fast enough, he wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t special enough; because she looked at him and saw every little thing he wasn’t, instead of marveling at what an incredible person he is; his selflessness; his charisma; the way he walks into a room and wants to know everybody. That they always want to know him, too. 

Because she was mean; a bully. It’s really as simple as that.

Through my life I’ve kept a short list of people I love, and I put those people aside in a category all on their own, and I watch and I wait for anyone to try to hurt them, to harm them, to tear them down, and I will do what it takes to keep them safe. 

I would have jumped between Mom and Nathan if I had to. In a heartbeat. I would never have had to think about it, I would have done whatever I had to. But I never had to.

Sora is harder. I can’t protect him from _his_ mom. Not when he insists on keeping her in his life. Not when he insists that I let him handle things. 

...Was harder. Couldn’t. Insisted.

Past tense. 

Over. 

Finished.

But just starting, really.

I know this is going to be difficult. Difficult and so, so, messy. It's her loss, not loving him enough, but he's the one who gets to carry it. I know he's going to spend a lot of time, maybe years, maybe the rest of his life, wondering what he could have done differently, regretting the time they lost, missing someone he barely knew, yearning for the side of her he enjoyed spending time with, a side that was so rare to show itself. 

I also see such an incredible future for him. One where he's finally free, where he'll never stop what he's doing, lost in thought, and mention with trepidation that he needs to call his mom. More immediately, I think of funerals and the time Sora will need to take off from work and school, and finances, and the creeping knowledge that I absolutely cannot fall apart any time soon, that I need to be the strong one as long as he needs it. 

The threat is gone, but it’s not that easy. 

More than anything, I feel horribly for him and am so, so sorry that he’ll have to go through this.

But I’m not sorry she’s dead. Not even a little.

It takes several more minutes until the shock wears off and Sora starts to cry, and I let him bury his head in my chest, and I hold him tight.


	3. Post-Home: Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riku makes a long-overdue confession.

I settle on the couch first, pulling up a certain text from earlier today just to give myself something to do while I wait. 

Riku|8:30am

_Let's talk._

8:31am

 _Everything's okay & you didn't do anything._

I'm not concerned—but definitely curious.

Riku joins me next, the cushion dipping a little under his weight. He carries a mug in each hand, one black and red, the other white and blue; a set Kairi bought us a few years back as a thank-you for watching her kids while she and her husband were on vacation. It makes me think of her and her family every time we pull them out of the cupboard. 

Riku hands the black one to me, the steaming liquid inside a deep pink. Hibiscus, probably. It's always a little sour for me, so I set the mug aside, telling myself I'll drink it later. 

"I sweetened it for you," Riku says casually, setting his own mug on a coaster after stealing a quick sip. "Simple syrup. There's more if you need it."

Ooh! Nevermind, then.

The gulp I take is perfectly sweet and tangy, lingering in my mouth as I put the mug back down.

"So what did you want to talk about?" I ask, looking back up at him. Already his face is a little hard to read, so I try to start things out by lightening the mood. "You're keeping me in suspense, here." 

A grin follows my teasing comment, but Riku still looks serious, maybe a little sad. I try not to jump to any conclusions. He said everything's okay, and I believe him.

Riku takes my hand, playing absently with my fingers as he talks.

"I don't know if you remember this," he says, "but when I was in recovery, I took you on a date to the beach. We talked about mental health and my sobriety, and I told you about my drinking habits."

Getting a little nervous, I nod. If he says anything about some past relapse, I don't know what I'm going to do. I've already gone through that with Roxas and I don't think I can do it again—it's _not_ fun. And if Riku really was struggling at some point, but I didn't realize it... I don't know how I'll be able to live with myself.

Before I jump to conclusions, it's worth reminding myself that Riku's been digging into the past lately—in a productive, healing kind of way—so there's no use in coming up with possibilities that'll do nothing but freak me out before he even gets to say his piece.

"When we were heading back to Dad's house, I mentioned something. That something bad had happened. But I couldn't talk about it."

"I think I remember that," I tell him, scratching the back of my head. I remember the beach, and us talking about... well, something. Mostly I remember straddling his hips and riding him over our jeans, and I think he asked me to run away with him at some point.... I haven't really thought about that night in a while, so it's all kinda fuzzy. I doubt it's going to get clearer over time. After all, it was like... five years ago.

...huh. Wait a minute. 

We were living with Dad and Riku was still in recovery, and I don't think he was out of the hospital all that long. So that's like, ten years ago now. Crazy. 

"...well, I think it's time I finally told you what happened," Riku continues. "I hate that I've been keeping a secret from you all these years, and I think I need to get it aired out. But first, I need you to understand: the reason why I didn't speak up sooner... it wasn't because I was afraid of you or what you would think. It certainly wasn't because I didn't trust you. And I don't want you to think that, because I didn't tell you sooner, I've been lying to you." 

His eyes meet mine and stay there. He still looks so stoic, I just wanna reach out and hug him. 

"I wasn't in a place where I could talk about it, back then. I could barely even think about it." He falters, starting a sentence once or twice before actually landing on something. "I still don't know if I'm in a place where I can talk about it, to be honest."

 _But you already started, so don't stop now_ , I want to say.

"Take your time," I say instead. He shakes his head slightly, pressing my hand up to the corner of his mouth as he speaks, lips brushing my knuckles.

"You're so good to me. You've always been." He holds my hand in his, and with the movement I can manage, I gently run the back of my index finger across his cheek. "I really appreciate you."

"Aw." 

He smiles, and I savor what I think is gonna be the last particularly lighthearted moment we get to enjoy for a little while.

"I told you that when I was using heroin, I was also drinking and going out clubbing a lot. It was an open secret that I was underage, but men would buy me drinks anyway."

"Yeah," I confirm. _Now_ I remember that part of the evening. We were done walking home, actually, when he brought it up. Riku stopped to mention it as we were about to head into the house. Then he asked me to run away with him.

My reaction to the information is the same as it was then. Stronger, even: there's no excuse for getting a teenager drunk or high. Adults should know better.

Riku takes a deep breath.

"Early on, I was sitting at the bar and waiting to get the bartender's attention. I didn't really want to be there. My fr—" he stops himself for a moment, "Axel dragged me out, and I wasn't that happy about it. He usually left me to my own devices so he could do... whatever he did, so I was usually just hanging around bored unless I was already drunk or high." He shakes his head, rolling his eyes a little like it's not a big deal. 

"Anyway, one night, this man caught my eye. Older. Attractive. Even though I wasn't... looking for anything, it was hard not to notice him. I wasn't planning to talk to him, but every time I looked over... there he was, looking back at me. I felt him staring until I couldn't ignore it anymore, so I walked up to him and he struck up a conversation. 

I still don't know why I did it. Why I didn't glare at him or turn my back or leave. But we ended up talking for a while, then he invited me to sit next to him and bought me a drink. He told me he'd seen me around, and that he'd take care of me if I just went to find him when I came by." 

He shakes his head again. I feel gross. This whole situation is just... weird.

"I didn't think much of it," Riku continues. "Figured I'd get what I wanted for a night or two, and then he'd get bored, or I would, and I'd go on my way... but that never happened. Actually, he seemed perfectly content to buy me drinks in exchange for company or a dance, so I found myself meeting up with him more nights than not. Then I started looking forward to seeing him." His eyes flicker away nervously before landing back on me. 

"He complimented me a lot. Always told me how mature I was, and how interesting... everything I wanted to hear." He sighs heavily. "Things were so bad between us, Sora, and I really needed to feel _special_ , like someone still wanted me. Everything he said fed into that empty place inside, and hearing it from an older man... I wasn't close to Dad yet, and Nathan had pretty much disowned me at that point. Do you remember that day at the police station, when we were runaways?"

I nod. _He left on his own, he can come back on his own._ That I'll never forget.

"I needed it," Riku insists. "And I needed it from him, or... someone like him. He was easy to please: just drink and dance and occasionally talk. Acknowledge him when he spoke. It came so naturally, I didn't even have to think about it. But things didn't stay that way for long. He started wanting more." 

Of course he did. Fuck this guy.

"He'd ask me to go home with him, and he started getting bolder on the dance floor. Sometimes he'd turn me around and—" he goes a little red, catching the expression on my face, "—you can figure it out. I let him do it, but I didn't encourage him. I never let him go too far. Always told him no. I—" he stammers, explanations flying out all at once, "I was just so lonely, Sora. I knew I'd messed things up, and I felt _awful_ about it and regretted it so much. I was desperate and looking for approval however I could get it."

Right, because he wasn't getting enough from me. 

It's exasperating, revisiting Riku's teenage decisions and ill-informed thought processes, especially knowing that someone was willing to step into my place and lead him down a dark path. Part of me seriously dislikes this guy for being so opportunistic and irresponsible, but the other part of me dislikes him for getting handsy with _my_ S.O. Maybe I'm a little exasperating too.

I reach out, stroking Riku's hair once with my free hand while the other remains in Riku's grasp. 

"Then," Riku says, voice already trembling, "one night, things seemed... off. I thought maybe it was just me, that I was paranoid and imagining things, but when he asked me to come home with him, and I told him no...." He swallows hard, exhaling through his nose. "He grabbed me, and he pulled me outside where we were alone. And he called me—"

"You don't have to repeat it," I tell him, thinking of every nasty thing people have said to me over the years. How mortifying it is. How personal and awful, no matter how untrue. 

He shakes his head.

"He called me _whore_ ," Riku says, and my stomach plummets. "He slammed me against the wall and groped me and grabbed my throat, like—like it was a threat, and he asked how much he had to spend in drinks before I finally opened my legs." His breathing picks up. I'm cold. Head to toe, I'm so fucking cold. "He said—" Riku chokes, and I wish I knew how to make this easier for him. "...Sorry..."

"It's okay. Riku, you don't have to do this. If it's too hard—" He kisses my hand. 

"No, I have to. You have to know. He said I was vapid and empty and artificial. That I was just another interchangeable faggot." 

I cringe hard, still hating that word more than pretty much anything. 

"He said that I was a liar, that every word that came out of me was made up because I was nothing. A nobody. He said I was frigid, and that if he _fucked me_ it would be cold inside of me, and I—Sora, I thought he was really going to do it, right there. And all I could think about was you, and how sorry I was....

I couldn't even fight because I was too _fucking_ drunk and so, so sad all the time.... A part of me thought I deserved it. I felt like I'd wronged you by even talking to him in the first place. I _hated_ myself for being so weak, and so fucking _gullible_. _Again._ Sora, the way he _looked_ at me...." His eyes shut tight, breath beginning to catch. 

I let him be while he finds the strength to keep going, silent and stroking his cheek with my finger all the while. I swallow heavily, the pain I feel for him almost unbearable. He's been sitting on this for more than _ten years_. I can't imagine what that must have felt like, to feel so alone then have _that_ happen and feel like you can't tell anyone, even the people who love you.

"How did you get out of it?" I ask. 

"Axel found me just in time. After, the man said he would have stopped before I got hurt even if Axel hadn't intervened, but... I've never been so sure."

"You _were_ hurt!" I insist hotly, anger boiling in my veins. Who is this guy? He's got some nerve. I'll hunt him down.

Riku just nods, slow and resigned.

"I was hurt," he agrees. "But I still...." A heavy sigh escapes. "The next time I went to the club, he said we could forget the whole thing and he'd keep buying me drinks."

...no way.

"Riku, you didn't." It just slips out by mistake; my eyes go wide, which must be a tell that I didn't mean anything by it. Luckily, Riku doesn't seem bothered. Not by me, anyway.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." The desperation in his voice is a punch to the gut. _That's not true_ , I want to say, but I know it won't help. Twenty-seven-year-old Riku knows better. Sixteen-year-old Riku was in too much pain to know which way was up.

Riku shuts his eyes again, and when he finally opens them he's looking past me, tears sitting still and shining in the afternoon light. It's always startling to see him just... fall apart like this. Probably 'cause it doesn't happen very often at all. 

"People have said terrible things about me my entire life, but I never took it to heart," he says, voice unnaturally low. "I knew my classmates and my family were wrong about me, that I wasn't what they said I was. But that night, everything that man said was true. And that's why it hurt so much."

I shake my head. "He was lying, Riku. He was a predator and he knew how to get to you."

He kisses my hand again. "...no. He saw me. At the very least, at _that moment_ he was seeing me for what I truly was. I was a wretch. I was... awful."

"You were a kid," I correct him.

He nods, but whether he hears me, I don't know. "I'll understand if you're angry, even though it was a long time ago."

"Me?" I ask. Why would I be angry at _Riku_ for what happened that night? He was the victim.

"We were still together and I was out with other guys. I let him touch me. I let him kiss me."

"I'm not—"

A kiss.

"Take time to think about it first," he says gently. "Deal with it in your own way if you have to, but if there's anything I can do to make it better, I'll do it."

Well... when he puts it that way, when I really think about him sneaking out all the time to mack on some other guy... it does kind of seem like cheating.

Maybe I should be angry, and I think if I had known back then, I would've been. Angry and jealous and extremely hurt. But... I just don't have the time or energy to feel betrayed over something that happened such a long time ago. That might say bad things about my self esteem, but making Riku feel worse about something that's clearly been tearing him apart for the better part of a decade seems so pointless. And mean.

Besides, he's been mine for our entire adult lives. Some old creep felt Riku up and shoved his lips on him, but I know what Riku looks like when he wakes up in the morning. I know how to make him laugh until he can't breathe. I know how it feels inside him, and how incredible it is to be loved by him. And I'd never, ever hurt him.

"If you... if this makes you question our relationship, or regret marrying me," Riku's voice shakes so much he's almost incomprehensible, and I'm wondering how he's still managing to keep himself together this much—he hasn't shed a single tear. "...I'll understand. I'll always wish I could take back what I did, but I'll understand."

I'm too stunned by what he's implying to respond right away. I might even be offended if I didn't realize that this is Riku's insecurity speaking. Trying to help. Trying to give me options I don't want and won't take.

Riku saw me through my mother's death and gave me courage to keep going every time I've ever failed. My appendix burst a few years back, and when I got out of the hospital Riku nursed me back to full health. He waited on me hand and foot.

He sleeps with his phone under his pillow so the alarm doesn't wake me up on mornings I get to sleep in. He cooks for me, and packs my lunch when I'm running late, and sometimes he does my chores just because. He always believes in me and supports me and trusts my judgment. And he makes me tea the way I like it. He loves me. I know no other guy is going to get in the way. Even when he was knee-deep in addiction, Riku still cared about me as much as he could.

Riku's been selfish—a lot. But he's also made it a personal mission to better himself, to make up for hurtful things he's done in the past. Through it all, he's given me such a wonderful life. The best one I could ever ask for, more than I'd ever dreamed of. 

I guess he was lying to me back then, but of course he was. During our first real conversation after Roxas checked into rehab earlier this year, Roxas told me a joke: _How do you know when an addict is lying? His lips are moving._

I believe Riku now. It counts for a lot that he let me know _something_ went down as early as he was able to, even if the details were kept from me until now. I don't think Riku's conniving enough that he would've just waited it out until enough time had passed for me to not get mad at him. Maybe before, but not now.

I'm not afraid of the future. Why would I be afraid of the past?

Riku strokes my hand, and with my free side I pull him close to me, letting him collapse against my chest.

"You can cry," I say. "It's okay. You can cry." Within seconds, I feel him start to tremble as hot, wet tears soak through my shirt. My grip tightens as I rock us from side to side. "I'm glad Axel found you before it was too late, and I hope you feel better now that you told me. I'm so glad I know now, and I understand why you did what you did. Then, and now. 

Whatever you think you are, or were, or what anyone else thinks... I know the truth. You're smart and strong and interesting, and you're so, so, so warm, inside and out. I'm lucky to have you. You're going to be alright. We're already alright." I grin. "Alright?"

Riku unburies his face, puffy and red, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand.

"I'm lucky, too," he says hoarsely. "I know it's not... not a deal breaker, you wouldn't have judged me if he—but I'm so glad you're the only one I've ever slept with."

That direction takes me by surprise—so much that I laugh a little, completely out of the blue. Riku laughs with me, the sound a little strangled but genuine all the same.

"I'm glad for you, but you're right. It's not important." As we settle in, I stroke his hair. "How do you feel?"

He takes a deep, post-cry breath through his nose, and lets it out slowly. His answer is confident. "Mm. Relieved. Lighter."

"That's great."

"How do you feel?" he asks. I shrug.

"Fine," I say. "Secure." I still want to kill that guy, but right now Riku needs me to be his rock. It didn't happen to me, so I'm happy to put the nasty thoughts on the backburner for now. "Proud of you for always doing the right thing."

"That's going a little far," Riku points out, looking up at me with reddened, drying eyes. I shrug again, then wrap my arms around him, lacing my fingers together to hug him that much tighter.

"Sometimes it takes a little while, but you always get there."

He chuckles, nuzzling his head into my chest.

"It's easy when I have you to look up to," he replies. Now I know I'm grinning like an idiot. He always knows how to get me all warm and fuzzy. 

Okay, I feel like the mood is light enough now for me to blurt out some stupid little quip.

"...Y'know, I can't imagine you dancing," I tell him. He goes slightly red, cringing in a comical, over-the-top kind of way that assures me he's in on the joke too.

"It was barely dancing. I just sort of... moved around while he'd grind on me over our clothes." The disgust doesn't leave his face for a good minute or two. "Fuck. I was such a mess."

"Aw, you're still a mess, babe."

"Okay," he squirms, trying to break free from my grip but I hold firm, "If that's how it is, then." I just laugh, following as his strength overpowers mine and he drags me a few inches across the couch. I end up half on top of him, kissing him everywhere I can reach, tickling his sides by running my fingers over his skin where his shirt's ridden up. His attempt at stifling his own laughter is pretty unsuccessful. 

"Nah," I concede, burying my face into the crook of his neck and leaving a kiss there. Finally I free him, sitting up and letting him unfold his limbs so he can get comfy and reach for his tea. "You're doing great. Seriously. You handled this really well, and I feel like you're ready to start moving past it."

When Riku opens his mouth, I almost think he's going to argue with me. Instead, he drinks from his mug for a moment before meeting me with a nod. 

"Yeah. I think I am."


	4. Home: Froyo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sora drops by Riku's apartment with a treat and a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riku's POV, takes place toward the end of Home, before Riku and Sora move in together.

When I hear the lock on my apartment door click from the other room, I think nothing of it. It would be nice if Sora actually decided to give me a call or a text before heading over every once in a while, but I've come to expect his surprise visits. Besides, it's unlikely that a would-be burglar would start to prowl at 3:30 in the afternoon, when kids are coming home from school and their parents from work shortly after.

…But just in case.

I roll my chair a few feet away from the desk in my bedroom, catching a glimpse of the front door across the small living room. The doorknob twists, a plastic bag crinkles. A slam and an _oops!_ Yeah, that’s Sora alright. I rise from my seat, only rolling my eyes a little. Might as well go greet the doofus. See what he’s up to this time.

“Rikuuuu?” Sora calls.

“Soraaaa,” I respond, sauntering into the living room. He's kicking off his shoes already, so he must figure he'll be here for a while. That's interesting. 

His attention shifts from his feet to the room, and I watch his eyes drift to the couch before sweeping across the living room. When he sees me approaching, he grins. My heart skips a beat.

“Heyyy, Riku! For a second, I thought you weren’t home!” 

He’s in my face before I can anticipate it, leaning up to kiss my lips. I allow it, but without pushing for more. It's only by accident that I pull away just as he tries to snake his tongue in my mouth. To save face, Sora acts like he never did anything, and I don't call attention to my own faux pas either.

“What’s up?" I ask.

He sets the plastic bag on the counter, a grin and a shrug following in tandem. “Well, I really wanted some frozen yogurt.”

_Really?_

“…You didn’t drive forty-five minutes out of your way just to buy frozen yogurt," I insist. "Tell me you didn’t.” 

Sora shrugs. “Well, we only have ice cream over on our side of town and I needed a change of pace!" I almost want to groan, but it's such a _Sora_ thing to do that I can't even feel truly irked by his prioritizing. If he wants to waste gas and money on trips like these, that's on him. "Look, I got one for each of us—” He turns away from me then, pushing down the bag to reveal two plastic cups and an array of brightly-colored spoons.

“You didn’t drive forty-five minutes out of your way just to buy frozen yogurt,” I repeat in realization, suddenly touched by his gesture. He still shouldn't have, not on a school night. But still... it's nice seeing him. Nice of him to think of me.

Sora shrugs again, swiping one of the cups and popping the lid open. With his left hand, he switches the lid for the second yogurt, passing me a cup filled with some sort of pink, mystery substance and a neon green spoon stuck in the center. “I just really wanted frozen yogurt,” he says finally, another grin following. “Don’t worry. It’s strawberry sorbet, and I didn’t put any toppings on it. It’s boring, like you.”

Boring. He _wishes_.

“Keep talking like that and I'll take my key back." I'm teasing, but it gives Sora pause. Way to go, Riku.

“You wouldn’t do that," Sora scoffs. "...Right?”

“Yeah." I push my spoon into the soft cream, stirring mindlessly as the distinct swirl becomes a gooey, pink puddle. When I glance back up at him, Sora seems dubious. "Lighten up,” I tell him— not something I get to say very often. Shaking my head, I snort back a laugh. "Boring and gullible. We make an interesting pair." 

His skeptical expression is replaced by a wide smile, and I notice how closely he watches when I take my first bite. The fact that I take another seems to give him whatever he was looking for.

Impromptu craving for strawberry ice sated for the moment, I reach my spoon over to his, hovering over the globs of chocolate, brownies, and what I think are Gummy Bears oozing over his yogurt. 

“Let me try," I ask.

“You won't like it,” Sora warns, holding the cup out. Knowing better doesn't stop me. Story of my life.

I scrape a tiny amount from the top and of course it’s disgusting and overpowering the second it hits my tongue, a complete sugarbomb, and I end up with more than a few regrets. "...Gross."

Sora laughs long enough for me to join him before I head to the couch, motioning for him to follow. We sit with our legs folded, facing each other, eating in silence though we frequently look up to greet the other with shy little smiles. It's when we're down to our last bites that I catch Sora's sustained, sappy look, and I send him a questioning sound in return.

“I really miss you,” Sora says, maybe a little bashful. “...Dad does, too.”

"Oh. Right.” I actually feel myself flushing a little, obnoxiously enough. If I hadn't finished my yogurt so fast I could've bought myself a little time before responding to _that_ bombshell. Oh well. I duck my head. “I’ve just been really busy with school... but I miss you too. Both of you.”

“Dad was wondering…” Okay, here it comes. I should’ve known he had an agenda. “I mean, I know it’s a drive, but if you’d like to just come over for dinner this Friday we’re barbecuing, and you could stay the night if you wanted. I was thinking we could do sleepover stuff. You know, stay up late, watch scary movies. You can stay in my room.” I can feel his eyes on me, examining, even after I've shifted my gaze to the carpet. “Like we used to.”

I finally look back up at him, and I feel bad saying this because it's a good offer. I know it would be a fun night, and probably something we both desperately need. 

I really do regret this: “I can’t.”

“Why?” he asks immediately, and it feels like he’s jumped on me. A part of me wants to say it’s nothing, I just can’t, I’m busy. But that’s not fair. I’ve kept enough secrets from him over the last few years to last lifetimes. Lifetimes that I’d prefer to share with him in peace.

“I have an art show Saturday afternoon and I have to spend Friday preparing. It’s stupid.”

He drops his cup in his lap as though startled, blue eyes wide, mouth pouting. “Riku, that’s awesome! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

I shift, shrugging and looking away again. 

Because it’s embarrassing. 

Because it’s embarrassing and pretentious and oddly personal but also not _me_. Because my pride is still wounded from when my classmates laughed at me over this stuff and whenever people ask what I'm going to _do_ with a degree in the arts. Because I feel like I make the wrong decision at every turn and I don’t know who I am. 

“I don’t know,” is what comes out. He understands.

Sora places his hands on the back of his head, swaying for a moment, holding an internal debate somewhere in his head. I recognize that look all too well: he’s either going to say something brilliant or shove his foot right in his mouth. 

“Riku,” he says seriously, picking up his bowl again and polishing off what’s left of a mixture of candy and fruit flavoring. “Your life is really exciting. Share it with us.”

I nod, still feeling awkward. The pep talk doesn’t help. 

“It’s nothing special,” I say, unsure why I’m pushing this. “Everyone does it at some point, and I’m only going to have a few pieces featured. I’m sharing a booth with my friend Naminé. It’s really…” the rest of my argument dies. _No big deal,_ is what I wanted to say. 

Suddenly and without responding to my weak statement, Sora whips his phone out of his pocket. “Okay, so what time is it at?"

Already I have a bad feeling about this. “…It starts at three.”

"At the campus?"

"Yeah." 

"Can I invite Dad?" 

I nod once, jerkily, like I have to force my head. 

Within seconds he’s texting rapidly, absently licking his lips again, trying to catch that last trace of sugar. “How about we take you to lunch beforehand? If Dad says it's okay.” He will. 

“Sure.” I lean back against the armrest, and as my head lolls back, I see the kitchen. A thought strikes me. “Actually, you guys come here and I’ll cook for us.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'm happy to. Besides, it'll let me show you guys that I can do _something_ ,” I joke. 

He catches the humor, I know he does, but his response is still painfully earnest. “You know I think you can do anything." Ugh, not that. "Oh! Dad just said he'll be there. Huh, that was fast.”

I can't even begin to stress about the fact that this is actually happening, too caught up in Sora's sincere, unironic, and totally unwavering faith. In _me_. I wish I trusted myself as much as he trusts me. 

“...You—you're idiots, you know,” I sputter awkwardly. He laughs heartily, face lighting up.

"That's why the three of us are such a good fit.” Not sure how to take that, I keep quiet, just accepting his kiss without question.

“I really do miss you,” I mutter after he pulls away. "Both of you.”

“We miss you too. Whenever you’re done exiling yourself, or whatever you’re doing, I'm really looking forward to having you back.”

As always, my gut tells me to argue and explain. But maybe he’s right. Maybe I am exiling myself. Maybe I still live with a certain level of guilt, and shame, and distrust, that leaves me with the urge to go away for good. Maybe I’m so scared, so inexperienced and _new_ , that I don’t know how to reach out and actually keep in touch with someone. Maybe I’m worried that I’ll call one day and there will be nothing left for me. 

More than that, though, I think that I’m making myself crazy with work and expectations, so I'm isolating myself for no reason. Because that’s what I’ve always done. But I don't need to.

I think I'm coming back.


End file.
